


You Give Me Fever

by reindeerjumper



Category: Bridget Jones's Diary (2001), Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types, Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
Genre: Alternate Universe, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Sick Character, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-21 17:56:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8255056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reindeerjumper/pseuds/reindeerjumper
Summary: Mark feels awful and Bridget wants to help. An A/U twist from the EOR standpoint where Bridget starts to realize Mark's feelings for her.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written partially for myself, and partially for a prompt I received on Tumblr. Because honestly, who _doesn't_ love a vulnerable, cuddly Mark Darcy?

The clock was approaching 7PM, and Bridget was starting to get worried. Mark was usually incredibly punctual, and she hadn’t heard from him since around 5:30. It was a Thursday evening, and Mark was supposed to be coming over for dinner after work. Bridget had ordered out Indian food, and when she ran out of her flat to go pick it up around the corner, she was greeted with gales of rain soaked wind. By the time she returned to her flat, she was completely soaked through and the paper bag of Indian food she was carrying was basically falling apart in her hands. That had been almost an hour ago, and since then she had taken a hot shower to warm up and had changed into dry clothes, all while the Indian food stayed warm in her oven.

_ I really shouldn’t text him again _ , she thought to herself, absentmindedly playing with the pen of her diary as she sat at her kitchen table. She had lit a few candles throughout the flat, and the local light rock radio station was playing low in the background. The candles were slowly melting down, they had been lit for so long, and the early March day outside had turned into an inky, rain filled night. Bridget picked up her cell phone and flipped the screen open--still no new messages. She clicked Mark’s name, and saw that she had texted him a little over a half hour ago. Mark had told her to not call anymore, ever since the whole “gorgeous-bottom-on-speaker-phone-with-Mexican-ambassador” moment, so she had refrained up until this point to call.  _ Mmm, maybe I should call. He’s never this late, and when he left this morning he looked awful. I mean, it’s bloody 7:00...if he’s still in a meeting, then shame on all of them _ . 

Hesitantly, Bridget clicked through her contacts, and found Mark’s name. Her finger hovered over the SEND key as she ran through all possible scenarios that could be happening.  _ Mustn’t be cross if he answers--if  _ am _ on speakerphone, then I don’t want to look like a nagging girlfriend. But also must be stern...I’m hungry and this is ridiculous. He knows how I get if I don’t eat _ . Bridget’s thumb came down on the SEND button much harder than she intended. The first ring went through, and then the second, and the third came through like a knock on the door.  _ What in the world? _ she thought, looking down at the screen. Again, a knock sound as the phone rang. Completely confused as to what was going on, Bridget brought the phone back up to her ear to hear heavy breathing. “Hello?” she said accusingly.  _ Did Mark get murdered by a madman and they stole his phone? _ was her first panicked thought as the breathing continued to huff in her ear. “Bridget, for God’s sake, it’s me. Open up the door,” came Mark’s voice over the receiver. 

Bridget quickly snapped her phone shut and hurried over to the entrance of her flat. As she approached it, she heard what sounded like a very loud, very aggressive sneeze on the other side. She opened the door to find Mark catching the tail end of said sneeze in the crook of his arm. “Bloody hell,” he said, unceremoniously wiping the remnants on the sleeve of his jacket. He was completely soaked from head to toe. The brown curls on top of his head were plastered to his forehead, and water was actually dripping off the cuffs of his jacket, and probably his suit jacket underneath. The cuffs of his pants were soaked a good two inches up his calf, and his favorite pair of black oxfords were completely rain soaked. “Oh, Mark, come inside!” Bridget said fervently, grabbing his soaked arm and pulling him into the flat. 

 

“Why didn’t you answer the door?” he asked, setting his briefcase down with a sniff. 

“I didn’t realize you were at the door. I was trying to call you and I guess I was so focused on if you were OK that I didn’t realize you were knocking.”

 

“Yes, sorry about the time. It’s been hell getting here.” Another sniffle, a loose cough.

 

“What in the world happened to you, Mark? You’re absolutely soaking wet.”

 

Mark gave her a sideways glance as he slid the dripping overcoat off of his body. “Bridget, isn’t it obvious what happened?” he said. “Well,  _ obviously _ you got caught in the storm, but how did you get so soaked? Didn’t you take a cab here?” she replied, taking the coat from his hands so that he could strip the wet suit jacket off next. “I started to, and then halfway to your flat I saw an elderly woman walking in the rain in the opposite direction of myself. Her umbrella was completely inside out and she didn’t have any proper rain gear on, so I stopped the cab and paid the driver to take her wherever she was headed. I didn’t think it’d end up coming down the way it did, though, and I couldn’t find a cab to bring me here after that...they were all occupied.” At this, he slipped his oxfords off and dumped quite a substantial amount of water out of them. “Clearly I didn’t have any proper rain gear, either,” he muttered.

Bridget couldn’t help but smile as she watched her boyfriend.  _ Talk about an amazing person...giving up his own cab for a little old lady and then trekking two miles in the rain to my flat. He definitely deserves a little fun tonight _ , she thought to herself smugly. Another horrendous sneeze ripped through Mark, convulsing his entire body as he barely managed to catch it in his arm.  _ Mmm, maybe not _ . Mark let out a mix between a moan and a groan, and leaned his head against the wall. “Mark,” Bridget began gently as she placed a hand on his damp forearm. “Come in and take off those wet clothes. I still have a pair of your pajamas from when you stayed last weekend. I washed them and everything.” Keeping his forehead against the plaster of her wall, Mark turned his face towards her and gave her a small, glassy-eyed smile. “What would I do without you, Bridget?” he said. Bridget made zero effort to suppress the smug smile that came across her face.

“I don’t think I’m going to stay the night, though. I feel awful...I’ve felt awful all day and I think my cavorting here in the rain just made it worse,” he continued as he stood up straight. The smile slid off of Bridget’s face. “You...Mark, you can’t leave. Look at you! You just said there aren’t any cabs running right now that aren’t taken up, and you just got here! I have dinner and everything ready. Let me take care of you, even if it’s just for tonight. I don’t want you to feel any worse than you already do,” she responded. “Bridget,” he said sternly as he loosened his tie. “I don’t want to be responsible for getting you sick. I think it’s best if I just go home.” She stuck out her bottom lip slightly and crossed her arms across her chest. “I’m not taking no for an answer, Mark Darcy. You’re staying here tonight, and I’m going to take care of you. You’ll be right as rain in the morning.” 

“Please don’t mention rain,” he groaned, unbuttoning the rest of his shirt. “Fine, I won’t mention rain. But you’re not leaving,” Bridget said, turning on her heel to head towards her bedroom. “Now go get into the shower while I get your pajamas ready.” She heard Mark begin a groaning protest behind her, and without looking in his direction she cut him off with a curt, “ _ Now _ .” Mark’s only response was another sneeze, a sniffle, and an equally curt, “Fine.” She heard him shuffle his way to the bathroom, a slight squish coming from his socked feet.  _ Such a hard headed arse, _ Bridget thought to herself, and quickly made herself busy with gathering a towel and pajamas for him. 

The sound of the shower turning on came through the closed door, and Bridget gently knocked before letting herself in. She came face-to-face with Mark’s bare back and bottom, goosebumps covering the majority of them. “Oops, sorry,” she said, as Marked looked over his shoulder at her. “You really do have a  _ gorgeous _ bottom,” she said with a grin as she placed the towel and pajamas on the toilet seat cover. Mark let out an exasperated sigh as he stepped into the shower, pulling the curtain shut without a word.

Fifteen minutes later, Mark shuffled out of the bathroom, buttoned all the way to his chin in a pair of plaid pajamas. Bridget had set the dinner table and placed the Indian food on two plates with a hot cup of tea next to Mark’s place. “Better?” she asked him, making her way to pull out his chair for him as he approached the table. “Eh, somewhat,” he said, taking the seat without argument. “I’m still frozen, though.” “Well, this will make you feel better,” Bridget said, taking her seat across from him. “I’m sure you’re famished.” The conversation during dinner was slight, Bridget enjoying the fact that she could finally eat, and Mark taking small bites and pushing most of it around his plate with lackluster attempt. He finished his cup of tea, though, and actually got up in the middle of the meal to make another. 

Once Bridget finished her dinner, she looked at Mark’s barely touched plate and said, “That’s all you’re going to eat?” Mark took a sip of tea and nodded as a coughing fit took over. “I don’t have much of an appetite. Sorry,” he said. Bridget looked across the table at him with concerned concentration--he was slumped down in his seat, his shoulders completely deflated, and the bags under his eyes seemed to be getting darker by the minute. His nose was red from the cold and his eyes were glassy. “Why don’t you go lie down while I clean up?” Bridget said, pushing her chair back to stand up. Mark, with a slight delay, looked up at her and said, “I really should go home, Bridget. This isn’t fair to you.”  _ Ignore him, ignore him, ignore him, ignore him _ , Bridget repeated to herself as she busied herself with the dinner dishes. “Bridget?” Mark continued, clearly thinking she hadn’t heard him. Bridget dropped the dishes into the soapy dishwater, determined to not engage in an argument with her sick boyfriend. “For God’s sake, Bridget, will you answer me?” Mark said with exasperation. 

Turning her back on the dishes, Bridget leaned against the countertop and folded her arms across her chest, soapy hands and all. “Mark, I am not having this conversation with you,” she said. 

 

“You’re getting your sweater wet,” he said, nodding towards the wet patches on her sleeves where her hands rested. 

 

“Do  _ not _ change the subject, Mark Darcy. I know your tactics. I am not going to argue with you about you leaving. You are clearly sick, and for you to trek all the way across London in a wet suit,”-- _ because we all know you wouldn’t be caught dead in your pajamas in public-- _ ”is absolutely idiotic. So stop being so bloody hard headed and let me take care of you. If I get sick, I get sick. I know you’re an independent person and you probably hate the idea of someone  _ actually _ having to take care of you, but I’m the best person for the job and you should just count your blessings that you ended up here and not at work in this condition. Now go lie down while I clean up before I wallop you.”

 

The fight that was left in Mark disappeared as he begrudgingly pushed himself from the table. “You’re lucky I feel so poorly, but know that this isn’t over,” he said, looking at her across the kitchen. She could see that his gruff exterior was melting.  _ He probably can't even remember the last time someone took care of him,  _ Bridget thought as she turned back to the sink. She turned the kettle back on to make Mark another cup of tea, and finished up the dishes while the kettle boiled. When the whistle sounded, she poured the hot water over the tea, assembled the cup on a saucer, and brought it into the bedroom where Mark had retreated. 

Lightly knocking on the door, Bridget tried to balance the saucer without spilling any tea. As expected, some splashed over the side and she quietly cursed to herself. She didn't notice that her knock has pushed the door to her bedroom open, and she found Mark curled up underneath her duvet, his hair mussed and him ever so slightly drooling on the pillow. It took all of Bridget's self control to not melt into a puddle at the sight. She’d never seen him so vulnerable before, and the sight tugged at her heart strings. She tried not to wake him as she entered the room, determined to make as little noise as possible. Bridget crept over the pile of clothes on the floor and maneuvered around the shoes interspersed in the discarded sweaters and panties.  _ Really must clean this up,  _ she thought to herself, dodging another boot. 

Bridget finally made it to the far side of her bed and slowly approached the nightstand. Just as she was about to make the final approach to place the saucer on the tabletop, her foot caught a rogue high heel that was sticking out from underneath the bed, and the saucer catapulted from her hand. Bridget watched in slow motion as it tumbled from her outstretched reach, spraying hot tea on the floor and bedside, her internal scream drawn out and deep, like in the movies. The cup clattered with the saucer at what felt like a deafening roar, and Bridget immediately looked to Mark. 

The noise clearly had woken Mark up with startling force, which in turn caused him to erupt in a fit of coughs. The grand finale was a gargantuan sneeze that knocked Mark back onto the pillow, where he laid an arm across his eyes. “Bridget,” he began in a congested voice, “are you alright?” Sniffle. Gulp. Bridget hastily picked up the tea and patted at the tea stained duvet with a shirt from the floor. “I'm fine, darling. Just a little accident. Let me go make you a new cup of tea and I'll be right back,” she said. Mark slid his arm from his face and looked at her with a pathetic frown. “Please don't,” he said, locking eyes with her. Bridget frowned and said, “Why? Don't you like my tea?” 

Mark sighed and said, “Bridget, please. It's hard enough for me to admit that you were right about me staying here, but please don't make me beg you to climb in here with me. I'm freezing still and could use some of your body heat.” Bridget glanced down at the spill, then back at Mark. “Fine. But let me go grab you some paracetamol and a water before I do.” Mark feebly nodded and sunk back under the duvet. Bridget quickly made her way back to the kitchen and poured a glass of water for Mark, grabbing the paracetamol bottle on her way back out.  _ Probably should grab a tissue box, too, _ she thought, recounting the sneeze that had just erupted from her boyfriend. With all of her supplies in hand, Bridget boldly made her way back into the bedroom. 

Mark sat up against the headboard, his eyes hopeful as he saw her reenter. “Take two of these,” she said, gesturing towards him with the bottle and the glass. The fight in Mark from earlier was gone entirely as he took the two things from her hands and immediately followed her instructions without so much as a peep. “And here's a box of tissues--clearly you need them,” she continued, placing them on the nightstand next to him. He nodded as he swallowed the pills. Bridget turned from him to get changed into her own pajamas, slipping out of her skirt and sweater at the foot of the bed.

 

Mark’s congested voice said, “Somehow even when I feel like death, the sight of you in your bra and knickers makes me feel glorious.” 

 

Bridget swiveled around and said, “Nice try, but you're only getting the best of my cuddling abilities tonight. We'll save the rest for when you're feeling up to it.” She picked up a pair of pajama pants off the floor as she heard Mark chuckle for the first time all night, and then loudly blow his nose. Pulling a t-shirt on over her head, Bridget picked her way over to her own side of the bed and threw back the duvet. “Are you sure you don't need anything else before I get settled?” she said, looking him in the eye. “I'm positive. I only need you,” was Mark’s feeble reply.  _ Never thought top barrister Mark Darcy could get any cuter, but clearly I'm wrong,  _ Bridget thought as she climbed into her side of the bed. 

Bridget settled herself against the headboard and pulled the duvet up to her hips. She glanced over at the still sniffling Mark, who was lying on his side with his right arm tucked underneath his head. He was looking at her with doe-eyed affection, which made her melt (even though he looked a little like a zombie). “C’mere,” she said, holding out her arm and offering her body for him to cuddle against. “No, no, I'm fine. Really. I feel warmer already,” he responded. Bridget let out a vexed sigh and said, “Mark, you are the total opposite of what a sick man normally is, but you're equally as annoying. Stop being so hard headed and be a little more needy... _ please _ , for the sake of my sanity.” Mark gave her a grin and said, “If you insist.”

Mark shuffled his body over towards her and slipped his arms around her waist. Bridget felt his long legs curl around hers, and he settled his head on her torso, somewhere between her belly and chest. “Much better,” she said, wrapping her arm around his back. He nuzzled into her, pulling her closer to him and sighing. They laid in silence for a few moments, Bridget drawing circles on Mark’s back with her nails while Mark occasionally let out a loose sounding cough.

“Y’know,” he began, “I really do appreciate you doing this for me. I can't remember the last time someone took the time and energy to take care of me like this. It was probably when I was still a boy at Eton...I came home one holiday break with the flu and my mother had to nurse me back to health before Christmas Day. That was the last time, probably.” 

 

“Really? What about Tamiko? She never took care of you while you were together?”

 

“No, never. That was mostly my doing, as I'm sure you can imagine. Whenever I felt unwell, I tried to hide it so she wasn't inconvenienced. Even if I  _ had _ allowed her to see me in such a state, she probably wouldn't have done much...she was a bit of a germaphobe. I always slept in the guest room when I was sick so she wouldn't have to share a bed with me.”

Bridget felt her heart ache at the thought. She bent forward and pressed a kiss onto the top of Mark’s head, his curls still damp from the shower. “You poor darling,” she murmured. Mark let out a snuffle and replied, “Clearly I'm much better off. It's amazing how you've turned my life around, Bridget. I fall in love with you a little more each day.” Bridget felt her heartbeat quicken at his words.  _ Did he just say he loves me?  _ “What was that last bit?” she asked hesitantly, trying her hardest not to make a big deal out of it. Mark pushed himself up and looked at her. “Bridget, you must know I love you. Surely it's obvious,” he said.  _ Clearly boyfriend does not realize the crypticness of his emotions,  _ Bridget thought. “I mean, I assumed, but I'd never  _ assume  _ assume. I don't want to look like an arse,” she replied. 

Mark scrunched his face up and looked at her. “Well, I mean, I've kind of assumed that yo-yo-youuu-- _ AAAAAACHOO!”  _ Mark’s statement was cut short as he buried the loud and wet sneeze into Bridget's stomach. He sat up and immediately began apologizing. “Oh god, Bridget, I'm so sorry,” he said as he scrambled for the box of tissues on his nightstand. He began to mop at her shirt with a tissue, frantic embarrassment on his face. Bridget, in the meantime, threw her head back and let out a loud, amused laugh. Mark stopped what he was doing and looked at her. “Why are you laughing?” he said. Bridget caught her breath and looked at him, her eyes still sparkling with amusement. “Mark Darcy, I don't think there's a single doubt in the world that I love you too,” she said. 

The embarrassment melted off of Mark’s face and was replaced by a smile. “May I kiss you?” he asked in a congested, gruff tone. Bridget tilted her head to the side, her lip curled in thought. “Mmm, I don't know. You're awfully sick and I wouldn't want to catch what you have,” she said. Mark looked slightly crestfallen but replied, “That's understandable.” He started to lean across her to place the tissue in his hand on her nightstand, and Bridget caught his face in her hands as it passed by hers. “Don't be an arse,” she said, and gently kissed him on the lips. As the kiss broke apart, Mark looked her in the eyes and said, “Love you.” Bridget smiled and replied, “Love you, too.” 

Mark made no effort to hide the joy on his face upon hearing those words, and promptly took his place back underneath the nook of Bridget's arm. Bridget kissed him gently on the crown of his head several times, inhaling the scent of her own shampoo on his scalp, then reached over to click the lamp off. “Feel better, love,” she whispered into his hair, and the only response she got was a small, soft snore from Mark, who was blissfully cuddled against her chest. 

 


End file.
